


out of this world vol. 1

by guide_to_the_galaxy



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Raph is an insecure mess sometimes and is smelly but theyre fine, They fit well, Y'gthgba honey im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11180388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guide_to_the_galaxy/pseuds/guide_to_the_galaxy
Summary: Raph has a grudge with outer space and wishes he was home most days. Being a pirate is hard and forgetting the old parts of your life is even harder, Some days, though, when they're this close and the lights are bright and majestic in the distance, Raphael doesn't hate space. Not when he's with her.





	out of this world vol. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in the Space Pirates AU!

Raph hates space, which was very known throughout said space.

He hated space going  _into_  space; hated space when he was sleeping, when he was awake, when he showered, when he trained in the holoroom, when he  _breathed- with every breath._  Space was just infinite.

And quiet.

He also hates silence (it was too noisy. you noticed everything- when that everything was quiet. you noticed how you breathed and when your heart skips beats, takes too many. donnie had a fancy word for that once) and so that revulsion had corresponded to the empty, frighteningly blank  _black hole_  and cluster of burning stars, dying stars and exploding gases that could  _swallow you up and kill you_  in an instant.

So while Leo gushed over holding a laser gun and April read gossip magazines about robots and Donnie licked space rocks and everyone else just forgot  _hey, we’re not in our element and, oh gee, by the way- not that important but- earth and all its miserable life forms are counting on our success. no biggie-_  while everybody forgot, Raphael remembers. And wishes he didn’t. He wishes he can laugh about this and find his niche and blow up planets for the  _hell_  of it. But he remembers his father’s face; he’s certain they all do. And he hates space. Because space is the reminder- the ugly, sickening, interminable  _prompting-_  of the planet exploding into a billion fragments.

When he sees other planets, he sees his own being ripped apart.

The irony of his own fleeting memory is that the demolishing is all he remembers cohesively.

The amity of his life, and everything about home is fading everyday. The other him has filled in that slot. He’s losing touch; he can’t remember the subway station anymore.

“I don’ even remember  _his name,”_  he says, looking out into the universe so broad, the spaceships hovering, pushing against the atmosphere. And he can’t tear his eyes from it, and he can’t help but chuckle, weak and low.

“Doesn’t that  _suck?”_  he looks over at her, eyes wide behind his mask, capturing Y'Gythgba’s stare, “’S right here-” he jabs his finger against his forehead, “Right… _here._ But it’s like everyday I ain’t down there…I ain’t…with ‘im- I forget.”

And she stares back. The galaxy is her. Her eyes. Her stare. Doleful. For him.

“It does,” she says, kicking her legs out from the ledge of the building they’re out, “Suck.”

And something deep in his chest churns, and a laugh rumbles out of it, up his throat and out until he can’t breathe. God, she’s done it.

“I am sorry…” Y'Gythgba whispers, turning her head away, “I should not have made you do that- when you wanted to be doing something else.”

“How’d ya figure I didn’t wanna laugh?”

“Because-” her hands clamped onto his face and it’s far from tender, from those gentle touches and quiet little things, “I see your…face, Raphael. You do not want to have me make you…laugh.”

“Yeah well,” Raph says, shrugging off handedly, “Sometimes we do…do that crazy…opposite thing around people that…th- people that make us…”

“Crazy…opposite?” she tries a smile and it’s stiff and comes out all wrong and beautiful.

Raphael swallows, and looking off into those spaceships again, nods.

And tries to think of his father’s name- and his face other than the that dead thing that sits in his brain.

* * *

 

She pulls him to his feet, and shows him the court. In Space, they had these trading courts. April said they were like galactic flea markets.

He remembers the robot with the spinning armory and goes pale, hooking his thumbs around his leather torn belt.

Above him are hues of red and blue, mixing and intertwining, overlapping in the swirls of magenta; it reminded of paint.

(he thinks he used to like painting with his father.)

Y'Gythgba lifts something and puts it into his face, grinning.

“It is a custom. April told me you enjoyed the custom of stuffed lifeforms!” she cheers, the octaves of her voice barely rising above her even, milky tone that lulls him.

He eyes the thing, praying it wasn’t what he thought it was.

“On my planet we take the carcasses of our fallen enemies,”

_Oh._

“And stuff them,”

_Yup._

“A reminder of our victory.”

“Wow….” he turns his back on his previously learned nature and holds it, pokes the face of another grotesquely disfigured, poorly stuffed, dead alien, “Wow…Mona this is…wow.”

* * *

 

It takes an hour (or six septons if he was going on accurate space time) for Raphael to realize they’re being followed.

They’re watching a G'zildon woman dance to a tune he’s never heard and Y'Gythgba watches with widened eyes when a flash of orange catches his peripheral.

The alleys on this planet are so familiar.

He vaguely hears himself telling Y'Gythgba he’ll be back, before he slips from the crowd and to a bin of alien trash, his senses heightening.

And it’s Mikey. Why would it _not_ be Mikey?

Mikey perpetually basked in the rays of joviales and happiness itself seemed to touch him, call him. He had to be near it because Mikey was just good.

“Mikes…” he says, groaning in the palm of his hand, “…Mikey what’re…get outta the space trash, Mikey.”

He doesn’t, of course.

And, of course, he just beams up at him, rocking back in the piles of unidentifiable garbage.

“So does she like the place or what, bro?” he asks, smirking because, okay, he picked this place for the date. He picked the planet and the city with Fugitoid’s galaxy map and he called Sal and set it all up because that’s what he did.

Raph can’t help but give a ghost of a smile, “’S alright, I guess…”

Mikey squeals and his eyes go alight like all the arrays of stars over his happiness.

And Raph hates when he gets like that. “Eh, c'mere, kid.”

* * *

 

The city is beautiful, and Raph only admits it in his head.

Like a wonderful painting, a beautiful mosaic of colors and, in the center of this- this universe, the planet, this lively, bright city- is them.

He holds her hand, and can see Leo hiding, the ends of his mask tails visible behind the floating transportation orbs. April is in plain sight and Donnie is perched where Casey is, giving him a thumbs up.

Y'Gythgba holds his hand.

And they watch time pass, ships pass, stars move and die and burst. He’s so scared- scared of forgetting, frightened by remembering, terrified by loving. But he’s still standing, as the old memories of his old life fade.

He’s never hated space less than he does with her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!!


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